The Suspension of Disbelief
by LegalBlonde
Summary: Lorelai learns to accept the unbelievable. Post-R&R, LL
1. The Road to Delusionville

Ship: LL

Rating: PG, subject to change

Summary: Someday, Lorelai will learn to adjust to the unbelievable.

Spoilers/Timeline: post-R&R

Disclaimers: These characters are the property of Amy Sherman-Palladino and her minions. I am a lowly student. Don't sue.

AN: Hey, if you see a dead horse, why not beat it? Or, my attempt at a post-R&R story.

* * *

When Rory was eighteen months old, she mastered the art of locking doors. They had just moved into the little half-house near the inn, one room with a loveseat and a full bed and a curtain around the bathtub. No kitchen, either, just a microwave and toaster stacked precariously atop a bookshelf.

She smiled and said it was fine; she didn't have time to learn to cook.

The front door had a push-button lock, the type you see on bathrooms; the bathroom didn't have a door at all. It all seemed fine until Lorelai walked out one morning and couldn't walk back in. Rory was inside, quiet as always; she had somehow managed to lock the door. No amount of pleading would convince her to open it again. Lorelai sagged against the surprisingly solid doorframe, hands empty of keys and full of junk mail.

She couldn't force the door, couldn't risk the cut glass and sharp shards of a broken window. She felt it for the first time, that choking, strangling fear twisting up inside her, some biological byproduct of motherhood, like breastmilk and stretch marks. All she could think was that Rory was inside and she was outside and anything could happen.

She ran to the inn without thinking, and found Duane, the night manager and resident Toolbox Guy. He patted her shoulder (which she'd always hated) and walked her back to the house without bothering to grab his tools.

"I'll show you a little trick, so if this ever happens again, you won't need tools, and you won't have to panic."

Duane pulled out his wallet and extracted a credit card. He had the door open in seconds, and she was on her knees with Rory in her arms before he even had the chance to move out of the doorway. He'd given them a few minutes, then taken them both back outside, keys gripped firmly in hand, and shown Lorelai how to slip the card in and ease the lock open.

She smiled over Rory's head, and thanked him, and didn't tell him that at seventeen, she was still too young to own a credit card.

* * *

  
  
She felt it again, walking back toward the Dragonfly, that strangling fear inside her, knowing something was wrong and there wasn't a thing she could do about it.

But this time there would be no Duane, and it couldn't be fixed with a credit card.

She'd put one hand on Rory's shoulder, only to have it shrugged away.

"Go. Go back to the inn. Just _go_." Her voice was thick with tears.

"I'll be at the Dragonfly whenever you need me." She'd kept her voice even, and angry, and   
unnaturally calm, forced herself not to look back as she walked away.

* * *

She made it precisely three steps into the lobby before she was accosted by a very distraught, yellow-robe-wearing Lulu. "Oh, Lorelai, I'm so glad you're here – did you bring the band-aids?" Lulu was in danger of leaving bruises on Lorelai's forearm.

"Um, Lulu, the—" she closed her eyes in frustration. Of course. She'd forgotten the band aids. "I'm sorry, I was out. I thought we had some at home, and – we didn't."

"Oh, that's too bad, because Kirk has all these little cuts from where he fell into the holly bush; they're all over his bottom and they haven't quite stopped bleeding, so he can't put any pants on until he gets some band aids."

"Lulu, believe me, there is nothing I want more than for Kirk to wear pants. I'll check with the other guests – I'm sure at least one of them will be freakishly well-prepared."

As if on cue, Taylor strode into the room.

"Well, Lorelai, I must say I'm terribly disappointed. I don't know what you put in this inn to make it so terribly frightening for visitors, but Stars Hollow _cannot _have this kind of behavior."

Lorelai put one hand to her forehead. "Taylor, I promise you, it did not take the Dragonfly to make Kirk freak out. Just please tell me you have some band aids."

"Now, Lorelai, you can't tell me you're opening an establishment with out a first ai—"

"I almost opened it without _doors_, Taylor, the band aids were kind of an afterthought."

"Well, it seems I always have to be the one to bail you people out. I'll bring some down from my room."

"Terrific. Lulu?"

Lulu rushed over to Taylor and clamped onto his arm. Lorelai rubbed hers in relief. "Oh, thank you, Mr. Doose, Kirk always tells me how good you are to him. I'll never forget when he told me about the peaches…" Lulu's voice trailed off as she followed Taylor up the stairs.

Without the immediate crises of Kirk's bottom and Taylor's emerging fan club, the empty lobby felt suddenly stifling and small. Lorelai crossed back out onto the porch and sank onto the front steps, head in hands, wondering whether she would be forced to repeat this day in some sort Bill-Murray-starring hell and how many tries it would take to get it right.

Heavy footsteps crossed the porch behind her: heavy malefootsteps. She felt a strange new constriction in her chest.

He reached down and rested one hand on her shoulder; she simply shook her head. "Explaining everything that has happened in the last twenty minutes would take much longer than twenty minutes and possibly the rest of my life."

"Which is good, since I have unlimited time to sit here and hear about the last twenty minutes."

Lorelai jerked back and found herself staring up at the one person she wanted to see even less than Naked Kirk. "What are you still doing here?"

"Well, I finished _Gnomes of the West,_ and _New England Latticework _turned out to be a real page-turner."

"Can you not see that this is the worst night in the history of bad nights to have this conversation?"

"As a matter of fact, I can see that." Jason raised his arm and made a show of checking his watch. "So, what time is breakfast served tomorrow? Because your chef is extraordinary. If she can do that with pot roast, I can't wait to see what she accomplishes with eggs."

"Jason, you can't come back for breakfast tomorrow."

He stared at her for a moment; perhaps the exhaustion in her voice was finally beginning to chip through the delusional exterior.

"Who did you think I was?"

Perhaps it was something else.

"What?"

"When I walked out here, you thought I was someone else. Who was it?"

She buried her face in her hands again. "Jason, I am not having this conversation with you."

"And what is 'this conversation'?"

She answered him in a flat, sing-song voice. "Well, in the last two weeks, I've eloped and given birth to three children. Mr. Lorelai and I are very happy; we've purchased a minivan and we're looking into a time-share."

"You're not ready to talk tonight; that's fine. I'll give you some time to think things over, and I'll be back. We can sit down together then."

"Jason, I am not sitting down with you. Not today, not tomorrow—"

"But soon, and for the rest of your life?"

He grinned. She glared.

"Okay, okay, bad sense of timing. I'll leave you to your glowering. Goodnight, Lorelai."

"Good_bye_, Jason."

She rested her forehead on her palms as he walked past her and down the path, gravel crunching and skittering noisily beneath his shoes. She was still sitting there a few minutes later, when the footsteps came trudging back.

"For the love of God, are you incapable of hearing the word 'no'?"

"_What_?"

Of course. Of course this was the moment Luke would pick to come trudging back. Lorelai stared up at him; he was staring back at her as if she were one of the predicted cross-dressing midgets. She let her head sink back into her palms. This was, without question, the strangest night of her life.

"Luke, I'm sorry, I'm thought you were Jason."

"Jason's still here?" She could hear the testosterone creeping into his voice.

"No, Jason is not still here, Jason got into his car and headed back to Delusionville." She sighed, let the sarcasm drain from her voice; what was left was tinged with exhaustion. "He just left; I thought you were him coming back again."

"Oh."

She heard him shift back and forth, feet shuffling, then felt, rather than heard, the boards creak as he sank down beside her. He was careful to leave a few precious inches between them. After a moment, she heard him shift again, felt the light pressure of one tentative hand resting on her shoulder blade.

No one had touched her that way since the seventh grade. In a different moment, she would have laughed.

"You okay?"

"No, I'm not okay. I couldn't be less okay if—" she broke off; Luke had snatched his hand away as if he'd been stung. Clearly, her ability to say the wrong thing at the wrong time was improving. Lorelai reached out and grasped his hand in both hers, forced herself to look up and meet his eyes. She wasn't going to give him the chance to misunderstand her again. Not now. "Luke, I promise, this has nothing to do with you. I went home, and Rory—" her voice shook, and she broke off, turning to stare straight ahead. "—Rory and I had this huge argument, and I had to come back here and deal with Jason and Taylor and Kirk's bottom—"

"Please, don't ever say those words again."

"—and now I'm exhausted and so I decided to sit out here and wait for the fourth horseman to ride by and I didn't mean to take it out on you." She held in a breath, as if waiting for a verdict, and after a moment felt him relax, his fingers curling around hers. She let the breath out slowly, but when he spoke, his voice shook with uncertainty.

"So everything's okay, then? With you…and me." He studiously avoided using the word _us. _She noticed.

"Yeah, everything's okay." She glanced back, and managed a small smile to reassure him, and he smiled back, and for a moment, just a moment, he looked like he was about to lean in again…

She tore her eyes away and stared straight ahead. It was all far too much, far too fast. She needed to think. She needed to process. She needed some semblance of sanity.

"I think I just need to sit out here for a while."

She didn't say _alone_. She didn't have to.

He released her hand, and she didn't turn back to him – she didn't want to see the look in his eyes. He straightened up slowly, spoke slowly, as if she were a skittish thing that couldn't be startled.

"We're still on for tomorrow?"

She made the usual mistake of thinking out loud. "Tomorrow, tomorrow is…Sunday. Sunday when we're going to the movies." _How can I forget this?_ "Yes, tomorrow, great."

"Okay."

"Okay."

He started to turn away, but paused mid-step. "You know what you want to see?"

She waved him off. "Pick something. If I like it, I'll love it, if I hate it, I'll mock it and make you miserable."

"Okay." He paused to reach down and squeeze her shoulder, lightly, before he walked away.


	2. 46 Words

AN (ridiculously long):

First of all, thank you for the wonderful responses to chapter one. Your comments were thoughtful and much appreciated, and it's an honor to see reviews from authors I admire.

Several of you have asked about "Any Other Day", and I am still working on that one. Unfortunately, R&R (wonderful as it is) has skewed things so much that I'm having some trouble writing a pre-R&R world right now. I am still working on it, but it's slow going at the moment.

This fic should be updated more frequently; my muse is cooperating and I've got it outlined pretty thoroughly. I'm aware this story is pretty dark at the moment, but it will lighten up somewhat as we progress. I'm trying not to retread territory that's been covered by other post-R&R fics out there, but that's going to happen a little; it's the nature of the beast. Hope this one will be different enough to keep your interest; thoughts and constructive criticism are always appreciated.

Huge thanks to carrielynn, a wonderful writer and friend who also happens to be a terrific beta.

* * *

It all started just after Rory turned fourteen and discovered her mother's closet was much more desirable than her own. Lorelai had come out of the shower one morning to find her daughter wearing her own favorite skirt, Lorelai's best black v-neck sweater, flats, and a matching scarf.

"And what is that?"

Rory smiled up at her. "It's your sweater."

"It does look like my sweater, but usually my sweaters are on me."

"Usually, it's on a hanger."

"But when it's not on the hanger, it's usually on me."

"Or in the laundry basket, waiting for Saturday."

"Ok, kid, if you're gonna do this, we're going to lay down some ground rules."

And so the official rules of sweater-sharing had been written, filed away in communal memory next to the official rules for movie night. It was a simple notification system: you were expected notify when you stole clothes, and also to notify when you were reserving an outfit for a particular occasion. (Lorelai's cherry-red A-line dress, for instance, was reserved that evening for a date one week in advance.) If you stained something, you got it out, and when you washed, you had to meticulously observe all categories of bleach and non-bleach, bleed and non-bleed, shed and non-shed, and the all-important dry cleaning. If, despite your very best efforts, you managed to ruin something of the other's, you were to confess immediately and plan a mall trip to make amends.

They hadn't been able to separate their clothes ever since. After Rory went to Yale, it became standard practice to search the laundry basket and make exchanges any time she brought it home.

This time, when Rory left, she hadn't taken any of Lorelai's things. Not her black v-neck, not her boot-cut extra-slimming jeans, not her Hello Kitty iron. None of her slingback sandals and not even one pair of Emily-appropriate earrings. For the first time since her chest filled out enough to wear her mother's shirts, Rory had left everything untouched, perfectly hung and folded. When she returned home, Lorelai found a pile of her things – some she didn't even remember owning – lying neatly stacked on Rory's perfectly-made bed.

Rory was gone, and hadn't taken a trace of her mother with her.

Lorelai sank to the floor beside the bed, hands running across her folded favorite v-neck sweater.

* * *

Luke flipped off the radio, downshifted, and steered the truck onto the shoulder of the highway.

"Luke, what are you doing?"

He put the truck into park and turned to face her. "Look, I may not be an expert at this, but when a woman cries all the way through a date, that's usually considered a bad sign."

Lorelai kept staring straight through the windshield. "I was weeping for Mary Shelley. All that grave-spinning has to get tiring at some point."

"Lorelai."

"Fine, it was for Hugh Jackman's career. Think how many hairdressers are going to be out of work, and I missed _The Boy from Oz_."

He stared at her for a moment, expression changing from anger to concern and back again. He finally gave a resigned sigh and pulled the truck back into gear. She continued staring out the windshield.

He was right, of course. She half-hoped he wouldn't notice, but that was a joke. She hadn't broken down sobbing, no heaving-chest hysterics, but had sat in the theater fighting off slow, persistent tears, the kind that left her swiping at her cheeks every few minutes, like a particularly annoying mosquito.

He pulled up in front of her house, put the truck in to park, and cut the engine. Neither of them spoke; neither of them moved; they both alternated between staring out the windshield and at their hands.

"Come in for a minute?" Her voice was serious again, subdued, unnaturally calm. Her unmistakeable Something Is Wrong voice. He inhaled, and nodded, and stepped out of the truck without another word.

She let him in the door and headed for the kitchen. After her third attempt to force shaking hands to measure out the correct amount of coffee grounds, she felt strong hands wrap around her own.

"Give me that, you're only going to spill it everywhere." She hoped the exasperation in his voice was exaggerated.

She took a seat at the table while Luke finished the coffee, picking up a slip of paper and turning it over and over in her hands. She heard him opening and closing cabinets, and when she glanced up he was pouring coffee in to the largest mug she owned.

"Trade you." She held out the folded piece of paper as he passed her the oversized mug. He scanned it as he sank down in the chair beside her, then slowly exhaled.

"Wow."

"Yeah."

_Mom,_

_I've gone to visit Dad and Sherry; they've been asking me to come for a while. I don't know how long I'm going to stay. I'll let you know when I decide to come home. You don't have to worry about me. I'm fine. _

_-R _

"You said you had a fight; you weren't kidding."

"Yeah, well, you know the Gilmores. It's not a fight until the Security Council intervenes."

"Can I ask what happened?"

She shook her head. "It involves some things that are personal to Rory – I can't say anything without saying too much, and the worst thing to do right now is get more people involved."

"You do realize this is Stars Hollow, right?"

It was meant as a joke, but it hit right in the chest. Lorelai covered her face with one hand as the tears started flowing again.

"Hey, hey, I'm sorry." Luke reached over with a tentative hand and began rubbing her back. He didn't stop until she looked up again, wiping the tears from her face.

"Luke, you just—I tried so hard to teach her, and use some sense, and she's always been so thoughtful and so reliable and so _Rory_…" she wiped her face again, "I just never thought we were going to end up here."

For a moment, he seemed uncertain, not quite sure how to react. Then he pushed his chair closer to hers and pulled her into his arms; she let her face rest on his chest. She shut her eyes tightly and clenched her jaw. It was all just so, so much to absorb. She felt as if she'd been sucked into a David Fincher movie and was left dangling after the twist from hell.

And it didn't help that she was now sitting in her kitchen and crying in Luke's arms. This was _Luke, our Luke, the town Luke, _and now he was – she didn't want to think about it. She relaxed against him, willing all the complications away, at least for a moment. She wanted someone, now, to wrap strong arms around her and tell her blindly that everything would be okay. Luke was better at that than anyone she knew. He always had been.

He didn't speak until her shoulders had stopped shaking.

"Anything I can do?"

"You know any fast routes to Boston?"

"Do you want me to drive you?"

She looked up at him, shocked to see that he was serious.

"No, I don't want you to drive me to Boston, that would be the absolute worst thing—" she broke off and shook her head, blinking back fresh tears. "It's sweet of you to offer. Really, thank you."

She pulled back, wiping her cheeks with her hands. They stared at each other a moment, unsure what came next.

"Well, this isn't awkward." The Awkwardness Meter promptly jumped a few more notches, and Lorelai silently cursed herself for speaking. Luke slid his hands from her back and rested them on his knees, fidgeting with the fabric of his pants.

"You know, I should—I left Lane in charge of everything, and she shouldn't have to close up by herself."

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea."

He straightened up, but didn't step away. "Are you gonna be okay?"

"Jury's still out on that one."

"I mean here, now. Do you want to come back to the diner? If you needed company."

She pursed her lips and considered it for the moment, then shook her head. "I think I'm going to go back to the Dragonfly – there's still a lot to do over there, I could stand to be busy." She took a deep breath and brushed the tears from her face. "How do I look?"

"You always look great."

She smiled. "That bad?"

"We are still on a date."

"Then I officially declare the date over."

"Like you've spent three hours crying for Hugh Jackman."

"That good, huh?"

"You may want to—" he made some indefinite motion around his eyes, "—with the mascara."

"Got it."

And they were back to the Awkward Staring phase. Lorelai finally stood up and pushed her chair back.

"I'll walk you out."

They made it all the way to the front porch before they did the stop-and-stare thing. Again.

"Well, I guess this is Awkward Moment #493."

"It doesn't help when you say that."

"No, but it distracts you." She smiled for a moment, then went back into Serious Lorelai mode. "Do me a favor?"

"What?"

"Forgive me for being the worst date in history."

He laughed a little. "It's fine." He reached out, slowly, and caught her fingertips in his. "You've got World War Three to worry about." She slipped her fingers between his and gave his hand a light squeeze.

He took another long breath. "You could make it up to me," he said. "Have dinner with me on Wednesday."

She smiled. "Gonna milk that guilt thing for all it's worth."

He shrugged. "I've learned a thing or two." A pause. "Is that a yes?"

"Yes."

"Good." Luke stepped closer and let his free hand rest lightly on her hip. Careful not to be mistaken, he tilted his head to one side – very far to one side – leaned in, and kissed her cheek.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight. And thank you – for everything."

He simply nodded, and she squeezed his hand one last time as he pulled away.


	3. Put Down the Knives, It's Gonna be

AN: You guys have been incredibly kind with your reviews. I hope you enjoy the remainder of the fic. I'm projecting a long one.

This one's a short chapter, with a mammoth one to follow. Sorry for the lack of Luke, but I have a couple other plotlines to take care of before we get back to the L/L.

* * *

Lorelai had all of twenty seconds of peace between the moment Luke's truck pulled away and the phone started ringing. She ran to catch it in time, taking out a coat rack and an errant umbrella on her way. 

"Hello?"

"Lorelai?"

"Chris…hi."

"Hi. So, anything you want to tell me?"

"Marijuana consumption has been down since Phish broke up."

"More specifically?"

"I've got one less daughter living with me than normal."

"She showed up at my front door at seven in the morning. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm always happy to see her, but this was out of nowhere."

"That's one word for it."

"And when I ask her about it, she just says she missed me and wanted to spend some time with her younger sister."

"Well, that's nice of her."

"What's going on?"

"Chris, Rory is an adult. If you want to discuss anything with her, you'll have to ask her."

"She's nineteen."

"And what were we doing at nineteen?"

She heard a sigh from the other end of the line. "Is she okay?"

"You're the one who's with her."

"It's not good, is it?"

Lorelai bit her lip. "Chris…she doesn't want to be taken care of, but she probably needs it."

She heard Christopher sigh from the other end of the line. "That bad, huh?" Then, a moment later, when she didn't respond: "I will."

"Is she around?"

"Sleeping. She seems pretty exhausted."

Lorelai nodded, as if it would somehow transmit over the line. "I'll have to catch her later, then. Bye, Chris."

A pause; she suspected he was about to say something else, but he merely sighed again. "Goodbye."

Lorelai disconnected, stuck somewhere between relief and fury, and briefly considered throwing the phone against the opposite wall. She decided to save her wrath for the proper outlet: Taylor's comment cards.

She steeled herself and managed a glance in the mirror. Luke had been…kind. On the upside, she could finally audition for that KISS opening. She sighed heavily (this was becoming a disturbing pattern), scrubbed off the remainder of her eyeliner, and headed for the Dragonfly. Work was good. Work was healthy. Work could keep her mind off the low, throbbing ache in her head and the deeper, more painful one in her chest.

* * *

She woke with that same ache the next morning, quietly cursing the world and the idea of Monday before getting out of bed.

Coffee. She needed coffee. For days like this, it should come in kegs.

The atmosphere at Luke's was surprisingly…unsurprising. Kirk was making strange sub-vocal noises in one corner (and was, for some reason, dressed in layers), Miss Patty was making inappropriate remarks in the other, and tourists in the middle were poring over maps and asking for multiple substitutions on their orders, much to Luke's annoyance.

The normalcy only made her more jumpy, set her nerves on edge. She was all but certain she was wearing some sort of flashing sign: here! her! this is the adulteress' mother! All Stars Hollow, whisper and judge!

And yet…nothing. Naked Kirk was the town's headline, with congratulations on the inn and the Banyan boys' latest pranks as a distant second and third. Beyond that….nothing. Business as usual.

Luke flashed her a half-smile as he poured her coffee, and gave her no more than an annoyed grunt when she ordered pancakes and bacon, extra syrup on the side. She managed to get through the order with knocking only one pepper shaker onto the floor, which was quite an  
improvement. Luke didn't seem impressed.

It felt strange, somehow, to be here and sitting and talking and eating like normal, after everything had changed. She felt as if there had been some earth-shattering news bulletin, and she was the only one to hear. Yet Stars Hollow was the same as it had been two days before, with the exception of Kirk's extra clothes. (She had no problem with that change.) Lorelai sighed and set in on her second cup of coffee.

Well, she thought, there's something to be said for small miracles.

* * *

Sookie was already at the Dragonfly by the time she arrived and, by the sound of it, back in her element. Lorelai heard a crash from the kitchen, followed by a muffled shriek and an "I'm okay!" and decided it was best not to investigate.

Michel was taking reservations at the front desk and dutifully sorting comment cards. ("This one says the Inn was lovely, the only drawback being there was no place to bring one's dog." "Well, I don't see why employees cannot write their own!")

She gave it until noon before trying the cell phone.

_Hi, you've reached Rory, leave me a message. _

She skipped past 'angry and hurt', thought briefly about 'right and justified' and went instead for 'normal and non-tense'.

"Hey, it's me, just wanted to make sure you made it to Christopher's okay. Call me when you get the chance."

"Hey, Lorelai, bad news."

She nearly jumped at the voice over her shoulder. "Tom, I thought we discussed this."

"Hey, Lorelai, great news."

"That's what I love to hear."

"Two of my guys called in sick this morning, and one quit. So we'll be shorthanded the rest of the week."

Lorelai felt a knot of dread in her stomach. "Who quit?"

"Dean, shame too, he's always been such a great worker."

"Okay, break down the rest of your list and I'll find some outside help for the simple stuff."

"Got it."

Lorelai crossed to the kitchen. "Sookie? Put down the knives and pick up the phone, cause it's gonna be a long week."

* * *

The day passed in a blur of work unfinished, calls unanswered, and increasingly concerned looks from Sookie. She smiled, tossed off another line about lack of sleep, and said it would all be okay.

She fell asleep that night with the scent of paint in her hair, fingers curling lightly around a still-silent cell phone.


	4. Paging Mr Serling

AN: Still getting all those pesky plot points out of the way. More L/L from here on out, but I have some setting-up to do in this chapter.

* * *

She arrived at the Dragonfly before dawn the next morning, ready to tackle the remaining paint touch-ups before the rest of the staff arrived and got in the way.

Insomnia might have had a thing or two to do with it.

Up before dawn, paint on her skin and in her hair, perched on a ladder that could probably come down at any minute, all she could think about was the last time she had done this.

She had just bought the house, the proudest moment of her life since Rory was born. Unfortunately, the previous owner had covered the kitchen in the ugliest wallpaper ever seen; it contained at least seven shades of pink.

After carefully explaining to Rory the dangers of pink-on-pink (followed by a re-watching of _Steel Magnolias_), they spent an afternoon picking out just the color they wanted. Rory followed her around the hardware store and they sat together on the bare floor, discussing the merits of every shade of cream. They didn't start painting until nearly midnight (AMC had a Bogart marathon), and Rory finally fell asleep on a dropcloth. Lorelai put a pillow under her head, covered her with a blanket, and collapsed into her own bed upstairs.

She awoke at three in the morning to a strange sensation. Yes, that was Rory's head, right in the middle of her stomach.

"Rory? Hon?" She shook Rory gently.

"mwrmhmph."

"Oh, no, not the pre-coffee sounds. Hon, I need you to wake up so Mommy can breathe."

"Huh?"

Lorelai lifted her head and slid over, making room for both of them. "There you go."

"Mmmm." Rory slipped back into silence, never fully waking up.

They got the living room painted and everything (what little they had) moved in, even the new bed for Rory, the one piece of furniture she'd scraped together the money to buy.

For weeks, she woke up in the middle of the night to find Rory right beside her.

* * *

It was just after eight when she heard the first car pull up. Ready for a break, and relieved to have help at last, Lorelai abandoned the touch-ups and stepped out to the porch.

And nearly screamed.

"Jason, what are you doing here?"

"Well, you told me you wouldn't be have a break until Tuesday, and it's Tuesday. So I thought I would stop by and we could pick up our conversation right where we left off."

"There was no conversation, and there's nothing to pick up."

Unconcerned, Jason sat down on the porch steps, placing a paper bag and two cups of coffee beside him. "Take as much time as you need. I'll be here. And I brought breakfast."

"Okay, you've just crossed the line from 'annoying ex-boyfriend' to 'John Malkovich character'."

"I'm not going to cross any lines, Lorelai, and I'm not pushing. I just want the opportunity to make everything up to you."

"There's nothing to make up. It's over."

"Don't close yourself off to the possibility, that's all I'm asking. And, is that a paintbrush?" His voice brightened and he gestured toward the brush in her hand, which she was currently gripping with enough force to leave nail-marks on the wood. "Perfect timing. I'm a wonderful painter. I can help."

"No."

"Just think of me as an exceptionally tall plant. I can help you get some work done."

"_No_."

"I'll even wear denim. Not something I do often, but for painting, it's a necessity. See, I'm willing to compromise."

Lorelai drew in a breath between clenched teeth, the last of her patience giving way. "I don't care if you can compromise, I don't give a damn what you wear; the only thing I want from you is for you to leave."

"I am not prepared t—"

"I don't care what you're prepared for. It's over, it's done, you sued my family."

"If the only thing you're worried about is the lawsuit—"

"The only thing? How is the lawsuit an 'only' thing?" Lorelai's voice was rising.

"Lorelai—"

"Jason, move on. I have."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"I'm seeing someone else."

For the first time all week, Jason looked as if he'd actually heard what she'd said.

"In two weeks?"

"A lot can change in two weeks."

"In two weeks?"

"You said that already, and yes, in two weeks."

His expression darkened. "How long has this been going on?"

"Don't start. I didn't cheat on you."

"So, what, you just had this guy lined up? Waiting in the wings?"

"It's not like that, it's just something that happened." Lorelai's voice continued to rise.

"In two weeks?"

"I don't have to explain my personal life to you. We broke up. That's what that means."

He stared at her for a long moment, eyes dark with equal parts anger and disappointment. Finally, he dropped his gaze and shook his head.

"I think you're making the wrong decision."

"It's my decision to make."

Still not meeting her eyes, he stoop up slowly and turned to go. "Goodbye, Lorelai."

"Goodbye." Her voice was back to its normal volume, quiet finality in her tone.

Angry as she was, she couldn't help feeling a twinge of guilt watching him leave. She made a strangled, frustrated sound, shook her head, and strode back inside.

Her ever-growing to-do list was waiting on the front desk. She considered adding a few entries:

_So far this week: _

_Rory slept with a married man, then ran away from home. _ _My parents are separated. _ _I am dating Luke, and the only person who knows about it is my ex-boyfriend-turned-stalker. _

Well, that settled it; she had officially entered a parallel universe. She knew she should have watched more science fiction on movie nights. She added a note to the bottom:

_42. __Search the video store for anything by Rod Sterling. _

* * *

"Lorelai, where did all the worker bees go?"

"No, Sookie, don't tell me."

"None of them. Not one."

"All of those people you interviewed, and none of them worked out?"

"We hired the last seven good kitchen staff in Connecticut."

"I'm going to kill Michel."

"You know, this would be easier if we fired him."

"I've thought about that three times this morning." She glanced around the large, empty kitchen. "None of them?"

"None."

"Any chance of Derek growing extra arms?"

"Already tried."

"Davey's still too young?"

"Jackson thinks he should walk before we trust him with knives."

"Damn. Well, it's settled then, I'll have to help."

Sookie doubled over with giggles. "Okay, it will _never_ get that bad."

Lorelai smiled. "Good to hear. Hey, have you got any of that amazing cake left?"

"Refrigerator. Help yourself."

Lorelai decided to skip the cutting-and-serving process and finish the whole thing off with a fork. Sookie watched her a moment, eyes widening, then stepped closer.

"Lorelai?" She dropped her voice. "Is something going on? I haven't seen Rory anywhere."

Lorelai froze mid-bite. She knew this was coming, and still had no plan for dealing with it. She finished off the mouthful and put down the cake.

"You're putting down the cake. Don't do that."

Lorelai leaned back and braced her arms against the counter. "She went to Christopher's."

"What? When?"

"Sometime Saturday night."

"She was here Saturday night."

"She left. We had a fight, and she just left. She didn't say when she's coming back." The tears she'd been holding back for two days were beginning to fall. "She just left."

"Oh, hon." Sookie stepped forward and wrapped Lorelai in a tight hug. "I'm sorry."

They were silent together for a few minutes, and Lorelai pulled away, wiping her cheeks.

"What happened?"

Lorelai shook her head. "Sook, you know I would tell you if I could, but I know Rory doesn't want me to say anything."

"It's serious?"

"Yeah, it's serious."

Sookie was uncharacteristically quiet, eyes focused on the empty counter.

"It just gets harder, doesn't it? The whole being a parent thing?"

She nodded silently. "A lot harder."

* * *

The phone rang at three-thirty, and Lorelai barely managed to avoid major injury in getting off the ladder.

"Tom, if this is you, no one else can be sick."

"Mom?"

Lorelai froze. "Rory."

"You said you wanted to know if I got here okay, and I got here okay."

She waited.

"Mom?"

"I'm here." Lorelai hurried to an empty room and closed the door behind her, sinking down on the bed.

"I know I shouldn't have left so quickly, but I just needed to get to someplace where I could hear myself think." Her words were all coming out in a rush.

"I hear downtown Boston's great for that." She tried to keep the bitter edge off her voice, and only partially succeeded.

"I know you were worried, and I'm sorry, but I just needed to do this."

"Worried? Rory, I was terrified. You just left."

"I needed to get away."

"Running away is not going to solve anything."

"My God, I do not need you to lecture me!"

"I'm trying to help you."

"Then help me by letting me do this. Let me get through this my way."

Lorelai closed her eyes, feeling the now-familiar throb behind her temples. "Have you talked to Dean yet?"

"I don't want to talk about that."

"Okay. So, how's the weather?"

"Mom."

"I'm looking for appropriate subjects to talk about, and this is the only appropriate subject to talk about."

"How's the Inn going?"

"We're swamped." She paused. "Will you be back for the opening on Friday?"

She could hear Rory fidgeting on the other end of the line. "I don't know yet."

Lorelai bit her lip, holding it in. She managed only an, "okay."

"Okay." More pausing. "Bye, Mom."

"Bye."

And Rory disconnected.


	5. People To Do and Things To See

With the length of her to-do list, Lorelai found the insomnia to be something of a relief. She was at the Dragonfly half the night, knowing she wouldn't sleep at home anyway, and back at work after a few exhausted hours and a half-stick of under-eye concealer. A couple more nights like this, and everything just might be ready in time.

Her sanity was another story.

She came downstairs to find Michel making notes in the reservation book and harassing the rest of the staff.

"Lorelai, will you be around tonight to finish with the guest cards? I am staying late to work, but cannot be expected to forego my beauty rest."

"I wouldn't want to see you without your beauty rest."

"You mock me."

"Daily. Yes, I'll be around."

"Excellent."

_Tonight. Shit. _

Lorelai grabbed the phone from Michel's hands.

"Oh, lovely, if you're going to answer it, I'll go to lunch."

"It's 10:30, Michel."

"Brunch."

"I'll see in two minutes when I'm off. So eat fast."

"Goodbye."

"Two minutes!"

She hurried to the tiny, cramped room that would someday be her office and was today a storage space for the remainder of the unfinished pillows. She dialed the number from memory.

"Luke's."

"Hey, do you have a minute?" She heard the sound of plates clanking down and a _No, Kirk!_ a little too close to her ear for comfort. A moment later, silence.

"You have to cancel." His voice was matter-of-fact.

"Luke, you never told me you were psychic! Quick, how long are you giving J-Lo and Marc Anthony, cause I wanna win the pool."

He sighed into the phone.

"I'm sorry; I want to go, but there's so much last-minute stuff to do and we have people out sick and I don't think I'm even going to sleep tonight." She broke off, and waited. Nothing. "Luke?"

"I'm here, I was just waiting for you to run out of steam."

"The steam has run out."

"It's fine, Lorelai."

"You sure?" A note of uncertainty in her voice.

"I'm sure."

She paused, then, uncertain what to say. She didn't speak. He didn't speak. She hadn't had one of these conversations in a long time.

"Okay, then, I guess I'll see you later. At the diner, I mean. Well, and probably elsewhere, but at the diner, too."

"Goodbye, Lorelai."

"Bye."

She hung up and had the sudden urge to bang her head against the front desk.

That urge only multiplied seconds later, when the phone began ringing and the caller ID lit up: GILMORE, Emily.

This day just kept getting better.

"Bates Motel, Norman speaking."

"Lorelai, I can't believe you answer the phone at the Dragonfly that way."

"Yes, Mom, it's exactly the way I answer it for everyone. Part of my elaborate reverse psychology routine to drum up new business."

"I just wanted to let you know that you and Rory are not expected at dinner on Friday. I know you have the grand opening, and I'm sure you'll be spending a lot of time there."

Lorelai let her head rock back against the wall. "You're sure there's not another reason?"

"Stop being childish. If you want to ask me something, ask me."

"I already asked you. I didn't get much of an answer."

"I am not going to discuss your father with you."

"Mom, I just want to know what's going on. You and Dad have been married for nearly forty years. You don't just separate out of nowhere."

"This was not out of nowhere, and that's all I have to say on the subject. Is Rory around?"

"No, she's not, so guess you're stuck with me."

"I'll call you about arrangements for next Friday. Good luck with the opening. Goodbye."

"Goodbye."

* * *

Lorelai sat alone in the silent front parlor, forcing bleary eyes to focus on the compact sewing machine and pillow #22. She heard a sound from the entryway.

"Sookie, is that you?"

"What?" Sookie's voice filtered in from the kitchen.

"Nevermind."

She walked to the entryway and heard it again – a soft knock at the door.

_Oh, please, no._ At this time of night, Lorelai could think of a very short list of people she'd like to see on the other side. She opened it slowly.

"Luke?"

"Hey," he smiled a bit, sheepish. "You said you were gonna be up all night, so I thought you might need this." He held out a styrofoam cup.

"You're bringing me coffee? Voluntarily?"

"Don't get used to it."

"Oh, I'm counting on it." She grabbed the cup from his hand and took a long sip, eyes sliding closed. "Mmmmmmmm. I might make it through those pillowcases, after all."

She opened her eyes to find Luke still standing in the doorway, shifting his weight.

"Oh, I'm being an idiot. Come in." She stepped aside and let him pass; he walked through the entryway, hands in jammed in his pockets, taking it all in.

"The place looks good."

"We've been doing last-minute touch-ups all week. Twenty-two more pillowcases and a kitchen staff, and we're ready to go—oh!"

"There's a banister there."

"Yeah, I found it." She reached down to rub her calf with her free hand.

"Are you okay?"

"People have been asking me that a lot lately."

"Are you?"

She gave him a tight smile. "Can we not talk about it for a minute?"

He glanced back over his shoulder. "Hey, I'm looking for Lorelai, have you seen her?"

"Ha ha." She walked – carefully – over to the couch and sat down, pushing the small table with the sewing machine out of her way. Luke sat down beside her, careful to leave space between them.

"You know, if—"

"Really, I don't want to talk about it."

He nodded. "So…how are the touch-ups going?"

"I think we might be done in time. All the major stuff is done, so no more rooms without doors, just rooms without fireplace grates and coathooks and extra towel bars."

He nodded, but didn't respond.

She set the coffee down on the end table and dropped her voice.

"I really am sorry about tonight."

"It's okay."

"And about the other night, too."

"The other night?"

"Sunday. With the date and the crying."

"Oh, yeah, that." He shifted a bit, fidgeting with the edge of a throw pillow. "I thought you meant the other night."

"The other…" she trailed off, catching what he meant. Or what she thought he meant. "Oh, the other night. No."

"No?"

"I didn't mean that."

"Didn't mean what?"

"Didn't mean that I was sorry about the other night. I mean – the other, other night. I was sorry about tonight."

"Oh."

She turned to face him, found him already looking at her with an expression she couldn't quite decipher. She felt her mouth running off ahead of her brain.

"I just didn't want you to think it was because I didn't want to go. I do...want to go."

He still held her gaze, speaking slowly.

"Well, good, then…that's good."

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he leaned closer. She began to lean in, too, never dropping his gaze. His eyes slid shut just before hers did, just as he kissed her, softly, for the third time. She reached up and slid her arms around his neck, he slipped one arm around her waist, drawing her closer, and let his other hand rest on her knee. By this point her heart was pounding and she was holding her breath and part of her couldn't believe this was _Luke_ and the rest of her just didn't want this to stop.

"Lorelai?"

They jumped apart so quickly Luke sent a book from the end table flying.

Sookie walked into the room, untying an apron. "Oh, there you are. Hey, Luke."

"Hi, Sookie, hi."

"I was just coming to see if you figured out what that noise was."

"Oh, it was just Luke. He came to bring me coffee. No other reason, just coffee." She reached for the end table and picked up the cup. "See, coffee."

Sookie was looking at her strangely. "Ooo-kay."

Luke stood up. "You know, I'd better—"

"Yeah, you've probably got people to do at the diner. Or, not people, but things…to do. At the diner." Lorelai sensed this was probably the moment to stop talking. Babbling. Whatever.

"Yeah, I'll get back to the diner." He turned toward the door. "Bye, Sookie, bye Lorelai."

"Thank you," she called out after him. "For the coffee."

"Sure, anytime." He closed the door behind him.

Sookie turned to her, eyes round as saucers. "What was that about?"

Lorelai shut her eyes, rubbing one hand across them. "Sookie, if I tell you this, you can't tell anyone."

"My lips are sealed."

"Except for?"

"Jackson, but I tell him everything."

"You can't tell Jackson. You can't tell anyone. Not yet."

"Oooooh, this must be really good! I mean," she added, catching Lorelai's eye, "good enough that I won't tell anyone."

Lorelai dropped her hand and looked Sookie squarely in the eye. "I'm dating Luke."

Sookie blinked.

"Hey, you there," Lorelai snapped her fingers in front of Sookie's face.

"Lorelai, tell me what it really is."

"I just told you, I'm dating Luke."

"No, come on, tell me."

"Sookie, I told you!"

"Be serious."

"Sookie, I am serious about dating Luke."

"You're dating Luke seriously?"

"No, I'm not dating Luke seriously. I'm dating Luke, and I'm serious about it."

"So you're serious about dating Luke."

"Yes – I think that's what I said. Meant. Said."

Sookie's eyes went even wider, a feat Lorelai didn't believe was possible.

"You're really dating Luke." She nearly squealed: "you're really dating Luke!"

"Remember, you can't say anything."

"How long? When? Where? I need details!"

"It's not a for sure thing. I mean; it's not official. It's semi-official. We've only had one real date." She thought a moment, and added: "That I knew about."

"You have to tell me everything!" Sookie made a little laughing noise as she sat down on the couch beside Lorelai, perched on one edge, smiling as widely as Lorelai had ever seen.

"Well, okay, it started at his sister's wedding…"

And she went on, returning Sookie's grin and thinking how wonderful it was, for just one moment, to be simple, and uncomplicated, and happy.


	6. The Duke and Brit Hume

Going for coffee the next morning had definitely been a bad idea, but, given the choice between coffee and no coffee, Lorelai always chose coffee.

Luke was disturbingly _Luke_. She ordered, he grunted, she teased, he responded.

She knocked over a chair. He wasn't so amused at that.

She made it through the door and back to the Dragonfly half-awake and without any major mishaps, and it wasn't until nearly nine that the ache began to gnaw at her again, under her sternum and behind her eyes.

She picked up the phone to call Rory.

* * *

She couldn't reach Rory when she arrived in Washington. She'd packed her up that morning with the best luggage and her favorite clothes out of both closets and said goodbye to her at the airport, after tucking the cell phone into her pocket and making her swear to call the minute she landed at Dulles.

Rory didn't call.

An hour went by, and two hours, and by the two-and-a-half hour mark Lorelai was scanning the channels for reports of bizarre phone outages in the capital and praising the cable gods that the Extra Movie Plus package included CNN.

And MSNBC.

And Fox News.

This was what motherhood had done to her. She was watching Fox News on a Saturday waiting to hear about the terrible no-phone conditions which were surely covering half the Eastern seaboard.

Rory called fifteen minutes later, rushed and out of breath and apologetic. She said she forgot to turn off her phone on the plane, in blatant disregard of FAA rules, and when she arrived in Washington, it was dead. She was rushed to a cab and to the dorm, and then out of the dorm because Paris needed to ensure that they located the nearest Metro stop and checked the accuracy of her downloaded copies of the Metro maps before any activities started, so they could be certain to make it there on time. And by the time she finally located a payphone and scraped together the change for a long-distance call, Lorelai was on her fifth minute of hell with Brit Hume.

She remembered Rory being away, alone, out of touch.

She didn't remember it being this hard.

* * *

She walked by the front desk, stopped, turned, and walked by again. Michel was standing there, holding the phone, in tears. 

"Michel? You okay there?"

Michel held up a hand to shush her as he finished his call, then turned toward her slowly, with an air of great importance.

"I," he announced, "am going to become a grandfather."

"Um, don't you need to give that whole 'father' thing a spin first?"

Michel was undeterred. "Chin-chin is pregnant!"

"Well, that's very nice Michel, we wish her a nice…litter."

"So naturally I'll need off the second week in July."

"You are not taking off in the middle of tourist season so your dog can have puppies!"

"Yes, I am, I will be claiming my rights under the Family and Medical Leave Act."

"Chin-chin is not covered under the Medical and Leave—"

"Family and Medical Leave Act. As an employer, you should be more familiar with it."

"You're not taking off, Michel."

"Well, then, Chin-chin will have to have the puppies here."

"No dogs in the Dragonfly!"

"I'll call my vet."

* * *

Michel was still giving her the cool treatment (at least she thought so, with Michel it was rather hard to tell) two hours later when he buzzed her new extension to tell her Richard was on the line.

Unable to come up with a suitable illness in three seconds, Lorelai was forced to take the call. _Damn, I'm losing my touch. _

"Lorelai, this is your father."

"The imperious greeting was a giveaway."

"I'm just calling to tell you that you and Rory will not be expected at dinner on Friday. I know you have the grand opening."

"That's…nice, Dad, but Mom called to tell me the same thing yesterday."

"Well, then, now you know."

"Dad, what's going on? Are the two of you even speaking to each other?"

"Lorelai, I simply called to deliver a message."

"Dad—"

"I'm sure I'll see you next week. Goodbye, Lorelai."

And he disconnected.

Lorelai decided she'd spent entirely too much time this week listening to dial tones. Without much thought, she picked up the phone again and began to dial, then froze, drew a sharp breath, and disconnected mid-ring.

_What the hell am I doing? _She couldn't just call Luke in the middle of the day for no reason.

Well, that made it official. She'd officially cracked up. Next thing you know, she'd be sitting at home eating salads and renting _Battlefield Earth. _

She sat back and contemplated whether the mock factor was high enough to overcome John Travolta in a codpiece.

* * *

Luke's had been open for two years before she and Rory ventured inside. When the sign went up, Rory was still young, just making the transition – thank goodness – from things you eat through a strainer, and eating out wasn't exactly in their budget. It was microwave dinners and mac and cheese and extras from the Inn and, on the occasional dinner out, Al's Pancake World. 

Sure, it could kill a person, but it was the only restaurant in town with 'pancake' in the name, so Lorelai considered it their only option.

Luke's didn't seem all that exciting, and Mia was always coming back from there with – shudder – salads.

But the night Lorelai received her promotion to receptionist, they needed to celebrate. Mia suggested Luke's, promising Lorelai would find coffee and grease to her heart's content, and reminding her it was child cruelty to subject Rory to Al's twice in the same month. So Lorelai packed Rory in the car and it was off to Luke's.

"I've got money and time to celebrate, so we'll need everything fried off the left half of the menu. Oh, and same for her."

The man staring down at her (who she could only assume was Luke) took down the order while watching Rory from the corner of his eye, like she was a jack-in-the-box that might go off at any second. "What do you want to drink?"

"Coffee, all of it. However much you have, that's what I want."

"Death in a cup, coming up."

Lorelai didn't find this funny.

He delivered the food several minutes later with a scowl. "You know you'll kill that kid feeding her that way."

"I know I'm her mother and can feed her any way I want to. And her name is Rory, not 'that kid'."

Luke scowled further and stalked off. Lorelai was tempted to grab Rory's hand and leave, but at that moment she made a life-altering decision.

After all, she couldn't be expected to let a perfectly good cup of coffee go to waste.

She took the first sip and very nearly gasped. It was perfect. It was better than perfect. She hadn't felt this good since nine months before Rory was born.

Well, damn.

This got her nowhere. If she wanted coffee, she was going to put up with Grumpy.

She took another sip. One of the seven dwarves was a small price to pay for coffee that good. Hell, for coffee that good, she'd move in with all seven and start eating questionable apples.

Well, maybe not the apples.

And Lorelai got her revenge. She came in before work the next morning, sat at the counter, and grinned.

"Hey, Duke, can I get a cup of coffee?"

He poured a cup without glancing up. "It's Luke."

"Thanks, Duke."

She grinned. He glared. And so it started.

This went on for, well, about two years. She came in every morning (and occasionally at lunch) (…and some evenings), called him Duke, and ordered coffee. He poured a cup, ignored her, and pointedly lavished attention on the next customer, even when that customer happened to be Kirk.

Lorelai made it a habit to sit by Kirk.

This pattern went along fairly well until the night of Rory's sixth birthday. Lorelai had a bash planned for the weekend – cake and junk food and every movie they could get their hands on – but every time she asked Rory what she wanted for her birthday dinner, Rory would simply look up at her with bright, unblinking eyes, and say, "Luke's".

At six, she had never once called him Duke. She was showing disturbing signs of growing a conscience.

So, at the end of the day, Lorelai gave in with a deep sigh and took Rory's hand as they walked over to Luke's.

Rory was unnaturally jumpy, aided no doubt by the steady stream of candy and special extra-chocolate cake, courtesy of the kitchen staff. So just after Lorelai sat down, ordered coffee, and got her "Duke" in, Rory grabbed too enthusiastically for a napkin and knocked the whole table setting off onto the floor. Luke, who had been looking even more cranky than usual, nearly roared.

_"Can you be careful for five minutes?"_ He whirled around, took in the mess, and glared at Lorelai.

Rory's eyes went even wider, and two tears rolled down her cheeks. Lorelai grabbed her hand, seething, and stormed out the door.

It was late, much later than usual, and Lorelai didn't care.

She'd had a mini-celebration with Rory, bought an extra cake, taken enough time to get her spirits back up, and eventually lulled her to sleep. Then she'd grabbed a coat and marched out the door.

Luke was inside, wiping down the counter. Lorelai yanked on the door, a little surprised to find it unlocked.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Luke looked up, surprised, but made a quick recovery. "I was just about to ask you the same question."

"It was my daughter's birthday, her birthday, and all she could say to me all day is that she wants to go to Luke's. She gets here, and because she's a kid, you make her cry. You haven't liked us from day one, and I don't need you to, but you will _not_ treat my daughter that way, especially not on her birthday."

"You have come in here from day one and done nothing but try to piss me off!"

"And it's working."

"Yeah, it is!"

"Well, good!"

"And you're wrong. I've never had a problem with your kid, she's quiet and neat and says 'thank you' – where she learned _that_ from, I don't know – which makes her better than 90% of the kids that come in here. But I have one crappy day after my sister runs off with some asshole and I have to come in here and get yelled at by a woman who's spent two years making a game out of pissing me off. In my own diner! Where I live!"

He stopped, breathing heavily, face red with anger. Lorelai stared at him, for once in her life uncertain what to say. After a moment, he added, more calmly: "I didn't know it was her birthday."

"Well, it was, and she went home in tears thanks to you." Her voice was more quiet, but with the same bitter edge.

"I thought Kirk knocked the stuff off; that was why I yelled."

His voice was quiet, now, and Lorelai could feel part of the anger beginning to ebb away. "Rory didn't know that."

"I'll make it up to her next time she comes in. She can have free cake."

Lorelai looked at the ground, the walls, out the window, and at the ground again. It took her some time to answer.

"I'm sorry about your sister."

"Thanks." Luke nodded. He regarded her for a minute, then: "Any chance you can cut the Duke crap?"

"Any chance you can let _me _raise my daughter?"

"You'll clog your arteries with that stuff."

"Says the man who owns the deep fryer."

"Are we calling a truce here?"

In reply, Lorelai stuck out her hand.

"You'll quit calling me Duke?"

"You'll keep feeding me coffee?"

He gave her hand one quick, firm shake. "Done."

Lorelai nodded, then stood in the doorway for a moment, surveying him. "You know, the grunge look is getting popular."

"Huh?"

"That's what I thought."

She gave him another nod and turned toward the door.

"Hang on."

She watched, curious, as Luke crossed back to the counter. He lifted the glass pie cover, pulled a small box from beneath the counter, and scooped the last two pieces into it. "I'd have to throw this away, anyway." He held out the box. "Since it's her birthday."

And as she took the box, Lorelai smiled at Luke for the first time.

* * *

Lorelai let her head rock back against the wall, suddenly aware she'd spent several minutes musing on her history with Luke.

That couldn't be it – the way something starts. It was thorny and unromantic and just all wrong.

He'd started as her pet project, her special annoyance, and now he was her coffee dealer and her confidant and her investor and her friend. He was someone she'd come to rely on: it was what Luke did best, being reliable.

Well, after torturing Taylor.

And Kirk.

And possibly the kissing.

Maybe _that_ was what Luke did best.

Who would have known?


	7. Just What She Needed

Her less-than-serious musings were interrupted by her cell phone. She glanced at the display, and her heart seized. _Rory. _

"Hi."

"Hi."

A pause.

"I want it on the record you called me."

"So, how are things at the Dragonfly?"

"We've expanded to forty-five rooms and added a floorshow since the last time I talked to you."

"Mom, I know—"

"I'm serious. We're thinking of getting Celine to perform, but I don't know if we can support that swooping-in contraption."

"How long are you going to be this way?"

"Be what way?"

"This way. This—weird passive-aggressive making jokes and not talking way."

"I am talking, I'm mocking Celine Dion and you're not joining in."

"I tried to call and talk."

"Then talk."

"It doesn't work like that."

"Work like what?"

"You can't just order…" Rory sighed in frustration. "Nevermind."

"Tell me what I can't order. Extra onion rings? Fries? Kirk to keep his clothes on?"

"I asked you about the Dragonfly."

"It's almost open."

"I know." It was little more than a mumble.

"It opens tomorrow night."

"I know." More mumbling.

"Are you going to be here?"

Silence.

"Guess that's my answer."

"Mom, it's not because of you, it's because of Dean."

"Have you talked to him?"

Rory was still silent. Finally: "No." She took an audible breath. "And I don't want to come to the Dragonfly and meet him there."

"Rory, this isn't like reality television. You can't just ignore it and hope it will go away."

"I know that, okay, I know, and I don't need you talking to me like I'm thirteen."

"Well, you haven't been handling this situatio—"

"Don't tell me how I have been handling this situation, because you don't know." Rory's voice was beginning to rise.

"Have you been handling it some other way than running off to Boston and not facing anything?"

"I didn't call to fight with you!"

"I'm not trying to start a fight, Rory, I'm trying to figure out what is going on with you."

"So am I." Rory was at a near-yell by this point, and Lorelai didn't answer immediately, the line quiet as they both caught their breath. After a moment, Rory plunged ahead: "I'm trying to figure out what to do and how to deal with this and how to do that on my _own_, and that's why I left. I know you want to try and fix everything and tell me what to do, but I did this, I made this decision, and I'm going to handle it."

Lorelai's voice was quiet, and serious, and deceptively calm. "Rory, that doesn't mean you have to stay away from the people who love you."

Rory made a soft sniffling sound. "Have you heard from him?"

"Him who?"

"You know who."

"He quit."

"He what?"

"He quit working at the inn."

"When?"

"Monday."

"Oh."

Another pause. Lorelai heard indistinct noises from the background.

Rory sounded rushed and a bit relieved. "It sounds like Gigi is getting into stuff again, so I'd better go. Bye, Mom."

Lorelai clenched her jaw. "Rory—" she broke off. "Bye."

* * *

Lorelai woke Friday morning with a strange sensation in her chest. She rolled over, hit the alarm clock a little too hard, and waited a minute for whatever it was to sink in.

The Dragonfly. Today. Her very own inn.

She jumped out of bed (ok, it was more like a faster-than-usual-roll) and ran for the shower. Her inn. Today. Her inn!

She could feel the other thing gnawing at her, too, the voices that said _Rory's not here_ and _everything's not ready_ and _it might not be okay_, but for the moment she could drown them out. The Dragonfly. Her dream. And it was finally here.

The day passed in a whirl of activity. The guests began to arrive at noon, and Lorelai stood with the entire staff on the porch to greet them. Sookie was practically bouncing in place, and even Michel seemed to be in a good mood. (Lorelai briefly considered marking this on some sort of calendar.) The four new kitchen staff (they were working their way up) were working overtime to prepare a special lunch (just for today, on the house) with an afternoon snack (Lorelai refused to call it tea) to follow later.

The day wasn't without its glitches: Lorelai could still see little flaws everywhere: a low tire on a golf cart, a paint touch-up she missed, one room still missing an over-the-door coathook.

But it went well. Better than well, it was fantastic. Her business travelers were thrilled with the wireless internet Michel had insisted she install; the young couple loved the long trail winding over the bridge and back to town square, and everyone loved Cletus and Desdemona. Lorelai spent the day checking on the staff, talking with guests, making corrections and touch-ups here and there, and calming Sookie whenever she got the chance.

It wasn't until late that night that the ache set in, after dinner, when the guests began, one by one, to drift off to bed. The Dragonfly seemed suddenly large, and quiet, and imposing. Most of the staff had gone home; Jackson was waiting in the dining room for Sookie, who insisted on seeing that every last ladle was shined and every last knife was sharpened before she went home. She gave Lorelai a quick squeeze and an excited laugh and returned home to Davey, walking out the door with Jackson, hand in hand. Lorelai sank down into a chair, taking in the silence.

She knew what she needed.

Coffee.

And possibly a friend.

* * *

Luke glanced up in surprise when she pushed open the door.

"Didn't think I'd see you tonight."

"You'll have to speak more slowly. I've gone twelve hours without caffeine. "

"Impossible."

"Believe it, my friend. Stranger things have happened."

"Not with Kirk out of the room."

She smiled as he poured a cup.

"I can't believe Sookie doesn't keep you supplied over there."

"Yes, but her coffee is not Luke's coffee, and if you ever repeat that I'll have to kill you."

"I think she'll take care of that first."

"Hmm, good point." Lorelai took a long sip.

"How'd the opening go?"

She let her eyes fall to countertop, studying the formica and her own hands, drawing idle lines. "Rory didn't come."

She heard his intake of breath. "You want to tell me what happened?"

"Yes." She bit her lip. "But I really can't."

"Lorelai, whatever it is—"

"It's Rory's thing to tell." She looked up and met his gaze, eyes level and serious. He nodded.

"Pie?"

"It's like you're a mind-reader."

"You've already used that one once this week."

"I'm tired and the guests ate all the cake."

"And you let them stay?"

"If it weren't for that whole paying-the-bills thing." She gave him a tight smile, then reached over and covered his hand with hers. "Thank you."

"Anytime." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, then slowly pulled his own away. "Pie it is."

Lorelai ate her pie in relative silence, merely listening as Luke finished wiping down the counter and stacking all the chairs. After he finished, he crossed back to the counter and grabbed the coffee pot, ready to pour her a second cup. She clamped a hand over the mug.

Luke looked alarmed.

"You really are upset."

"Actually, I'd like a to-go cup. I want to go home and get some sleep."

"The coffee's gonna help with that."

"Never question my caffeine tolerance."

He pulled out a to-go cup, extra large, and filled it to the brim. Lorelai grinned.

She stood up to leave, but lingered near the counter instead. She was standing, not speaking, not certain what to say. He watched her; she could see his mind working, the questions behind his eyes.

Finally, she said, quietly: "Walk me back?"

She guessed he didn't know what this was about, or why, but he didn't question, simply flipped the light switch and followed her to the door. Outside, she took in a deep breath, inhaling the cool late-spring air. "It really is beautiful."

He nodded, hands jammed in his pockets. "So how did the opening go?"

"Great," she said softly, and added, with a touch of bitterness: "It was perfect."

"She'll come home soon."

"You don't know that."

"I know Rory."

"Maybe not as well as you think."

He shot her a quizzical glance, and she merely shook her head. "Thanks, though. For trying."

He nodded, eyes still fixed mostly on the ground, with the occasional glance over at her.

When they finally reached her front porch, she set the coffee down on the railing, turned to Luke, and wrapped her arms around his neck. He held her tightly, hands rubbing light circles across her back.

"Thank you," she whispered against his skin.

He simply nodded.

Lorelai took a deep breath, feeling the press of his arms and the warmth of his skin. He was present, and real, and tangible, and he was there for her. No questions asked.

She knew then: what she needed.

Without warning, Lorelai pulled back sharply, grabbed his hand, and pulled him up the steps and across to the far side of the porch.

"Lorelai, what are you doing?"

She stepped closer, reaching up to take his face in both her hands. "Babette's window is right over there, and I don't want her to see me do this." She pulled his face down to meet hers, kissing him firmly, without doubt or reservation. He responded immediately, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer. They remained locked in place for a moment, moving slowly, neither one willing to pull away.

Lorelai went rigid at the sound of a squeaking hinge and a porcelain mug, bouncing on the wooden porch.

"Mom?"

Rory stood, openmouthed, in the doorway.


	8. The Sounds of Silence

"Rory!" Lorelai pulled back from Luke so quickly she backed into the wall. "You're home."

"Yeah." Rory was still staring.

"I—uh, I'd better go." Luke jerked a thumb back over his shoulder, pointing at nothing. "Back to…the diner."

"Yeah, back to the diner." Lorelai repeated, still staring at Rory. Her brain had shifted from Luke-is-a-great-friend mode to Luke-is-a-great-kisser mode to Oh-my-god-I've-been-caught-mode way too quickly, and the rest of her was trying to catch up. "Lots to do at the diner."

"Yeah, I'll go back to the diner."

Luke started to turn away, and Lorelai had the presence of mind to turn and look at him. "I'll see you later."

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, eyes dark and serious. He looked at her, and at Rory, and turned to go. Lorelai realized she had no idea who he'd just apologized _to_.

Lorelai waited until Luke was down the steps and out of earshot before turning back to Rory.

"So," she said, pasting on her patented Fake Gilmore Smile, "you're back."

"I'm back." Rory still looked a bit stunned.

"Nice drive down?"

"I thought it wasn't official."

"Well, it's not, it's just—" Lorelai broke off, glancing back over her shoulder. "Something."

"Just _something_?"

"Yeah."

"I've been gone for six days and when I come back Luke has his tongue down your throat."

"Oh, stop."

"Stop what? Was that not what it looked like?"

"Rory, Luke and I are…complicated, and we both have bigger things to worry about right now."

Rory's expression darkened. "That was subtle."

"I'm not trying to be hurtful, I'm saying we have five hundred things to discuss right now and Luke is somewhere around four hundred and ninety." She stopped and they both stared for a moment, arms crossed, at an impasse. "So. How was Christopher's?"

"I can't believe you didn't tell me about this."

"You can't believe? You ran off to Boston and we've said fifteen words to each other all week."

"And three of those fifteen words couldn't be 'I'm dating Luke'?"

"I'm dating Luke, Rory, are you happy?"

"No."

"So do you want to bitch me out all night or do you want to talk?"

"What's option three?"

"Option three is you explain to me why you drove to Boston in the middle of the night and scared the shit out of everyone who cares about you."

"I've already explained that."

"Rory, I don't want you to think I'm not glad you're home, because I am, but running away did not make this thing any better."

"Better for who? For you? You're pissed because I didn't talk to you and you're pissed because I wasn't there at the Dragonfly and you haven't asked once whether this was the right thing for _me_."

"You ran away from everything, Rory, I don't understand how that could be the right thing." She shook her head. "Not for anyone."

"You're right, you don't understand."

"Oh, well, that was eloquent. Care to enlighten me, Judy Blume?"

"What do you want? I came back. I told you how hard this would be and I came back because you wanted me to and because you wanted me here. I came back." Rory's voice was at a near-yell.

Lorelai stared down at the porch, drawing in slow breaths and trying to get the throbbing in her head under control. After a long moment, she looked up, crossed the porch, and wrapped her arms around Rory.

Rory stiffened for a minute, then relaxed, pressing her face into her mother's chest, shoulders shaking with her sobs.

* * *

Rory was quiet after she got her tears under control, asking a couple perfunctory questions about the Dragonfly, then stating simply that she needed to get to bed. She went into her room only long enough to change into her pajamas, then settled in on the couch, pulling her favorite quilt up over her shoulders. Lorelai stood and watched her from the head of the stairs, trying to decide what to do, how to find her way through the mix of pain and anger and pathos. After Rory turned out the light, she sighed quietly and turned towards her room.

"Goodnight," Rory murmured from beneath the blankets.

Lorelai paused with her hand on the banister. "Goodnight."

And that had been that. Lorelai was out the door before dawn, pausing only to tuck the blankets more securely around Rory, still scrunched awkwardly on the couch. She decided to forego the morning diner ritual; Sookie would have something caffeinated and she needed get back to the Dragonfly before any of the guests checked out.

That was the only reason, she assured herself.

Rory arrived just after Michel, dark circles still showing beneath her eyes. Sookie squealed a little and embraced Rory as soon as she walked in; Rory blanched and shot Lorelai a worried look over Sookie's shoulder.

Lorelai shook her head, expression serious, and Rory gave an almost-imperceptible sigh of relief as she relaxed just enough to hug Sookie back.

Rory was eager to volunteer her services greeting guests and running backup for the too-busy phone, and Michel seemed more than happy to accept. She slipped away sometime mid-afternoon, and Lorelai decided it was a good day for an early dinner (her favorite kind) back at the house.

It was silent.

"Rory?" she called out, walking through the door. "You really shouldn't let Michel scare you off, he's pretty cocky after the whole thing with the kitchen staff. Rory?"

No answer. Lorelai bent down far enough to see the telltale light from beneath Rory's door, and the anger that had been nagging at her rushed back in full force. She leaned against the door. "Rory?"

Nothing. She knocked lightly. "You're doing an excellent Marcel Marceau impression."

"I was going for Joe Teller." The voice from the other side was dark, brittle, without humor.

It matched her own.

"You're making me regret getting Showtime." Lorelai leaned against the door for a moment longer, heard indistinct rustling, a sound like a book slipping to the floor, but no further words. Lorelai pulled herself away from the door and crossed to the answering machine. No messages. On impulse, she picked up the phone and flipped through the caller ID.

Nineteen calls from one number. Guess who.

And one call from another number; Lorelai frowned and put the phone back. She'd get over to the diner eventually. Just not right now. She had things to do right now – it would be stupid to walk all the way to the diner for dinner when she had food here and so many things to do back at the Dragonfly.

Pointless, really. Pointless and stupid.

A quick inventory of the kitchen revealed a full box of pop-tarts – smores pop-tarts, no less – and a desperate need to go shopping. One more thing for the to-do list. Lorelai wondered idly whether owning her own inn meant that she could just eat Sookie's food three times a day and never stock her own kitchen again. It wasn't a bad plan.

Lorelai ate her pop-tart dinner as quickly as she could, not even bothering to toast, then tried her luck with the door again. "I'm going back to the Dragonfly."

"Okay."

"Call me there if you need anything."

"Okay."

She leaned her weight against the door. "You might want to check the caller ID."

"Okay."

The third okay was decidedly unconvincing.

"Bye, Teller."

A mumbled "bye", and Lorelai was back to the Dragonfly.


	9. Independence Inn

So began the pattern. For the next three days, Rory worked a few hours a day at the Dragonfly, returned home, then barricaded herself in her room (or occasionally on the couch beneath a thick book and a pile of blankets), speaking only when necessary to procure food or prevent an outburst from Lorelai.

Lorelai carried on as usual, working long hours at the Dragonfly and carrying on long one-sided conversations and making strings of bad jokes when she returned home. Any attempt to actually talk _to _Rory, rather than just at her, led to bitter, bitten-off sentences with the promise of more harsh words to follow. Lorelai found herself reiterating her concern for Rory, making occasional references to phone calls and conversations and maybe even leaving the house, but every attempt was rebuffed with a flat, expressionless "I'm fine" and occasionally a slamming door.

And so it went.

* * *

"So, I'm thinking of adding a disco to the Dragonfly. We're going to get Kirk to DJ."

"Very funny."

"Hey, this is serious. I've already ordered the mirror ball and a white suit for Michel."

"Ha-ha."

"Okay, I know this is like asking Cher to step away from the sequins, but you're going to have to put that book down, because this whole sitting around the house and not talking thing is getting a little old. I think we said more to each other when you were in Boston."

Rory shut the book, keeping one finger in the middle to hold her place. "I just don't feel like talking."

"Ever again? Because for a day, that's fine, a weekend maybe, but you're entering week three of this little self-imposed silence thing and it's starting to freak me out."

"Well, I'm sorry you're freaked but I just don't feel like talking."

"Rory, this is me."

"Yes, I know it's you, the Cher reference was kind of a giveaway."

"And no matter what's happened, we've always been able to talk about things. That's how this whole thing works between us, remember?"

Rory's voice gained a hard edge. "Well, maybe it doesn't work that way anymore."

Lorelai gripped the arm of the sofa. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"It means I am not going to be sixteen forever. Maybe, sometime, someday, there's going to be something that I need to deal with on my own and things I need to figure out on my own and maybe I might not talk to you about them."

"Rory, not this."

"And why not this? Why is this the one thing that we absolutely must talk about, whether I want to or not?"

"Well, offhand, because it's pretty major event in your life and it's possible, just possible, it might affect some other people, and your future, and so I thought maybe at some point we might have a conversation about it. Crazy me! I was wrong."

"Why can't you leave me alone about this?"

"Because I'm worried about you, and I love you, and I want to help you get through this."

"There's nothing to get through. I made a mistake, it's done, it's over, and I'm going on with my life. Will you just let me do that?"

"Yes, I will let you do that, but you know it's not that simple. We both know it's not that simple. Jessica Simpson knows it's not that simple."

"Thank you for comparing me to Jessica Simpson."

"I'm not comparing you, you're a brilliant, caring, amazing person, which means you know enough to know that you can't just ignore this and you can't just pretend this didn't happen. You need to deal with this, Rory, and I want to help you do that."

Rory sat up straight, throwing back her blanket. "I don't want your help, I don't want you here fawning over me and asking me how I am and telling me what I'm supposed to feel. I made this decision and I will figure out how to deal with it. Me. I will do this. Can you just accept for once that this is not about you?"

"I don't think it's about—"

"Then let me handle this! I'm an adult, I'm in college, I have moved away from here and lived on my own and I don't need you to follow me around everywhere telling me how to handle every situation."

"That's not what I'm doing."

They were silent for a moment, stewing. Lorelai took a deep breath, continued, her voice more controlled. "I understand the independence thing. I think I know where you got that. But you are not me, you are better than me and I raised you to be better than me. Don't shut everyone out."

"You always told me it was great, how independent you were, how you had to go out and make your own life and your own decisions."

"And I did, and it was, but it was hard, Rory, you know that. It wasn't perfect and it wasn't ideal. I wish I could have given you a loving family and a father who wasn't a flake and home that wasn't a storage shed. We did our best, and it was great, but it doesn't mean that that's what's best for you. You had Chilton and you've got Yale and you've got the whole world out in front of you, the world I didn't get when I was nineteen working double shifts carrying around a three-year-old. That's what I want for you. I want you to have everything. I want you to have independence, too, but I want you to be able to turn to the people who love you when you need it."

"Well, I don't need it." Her voice was bitter, full of quiet finality.

Lorelai stared for a moment, as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"I don't need it." She repeated, looking down at her blanket and discarded book. "I need to be alone."

Lorelai looked down, trying to compose herself, then slowly rose off the couch, steadying herself on the end table. She walked out of the house and out the front door, staring at the ground the entire time.

The Dragonfly was full of sleeping guests. Sookie was at home getting some precious sleep, now that Davey was finally sleeping regular hours. Luke's was far too awkward.

She made it halfway to town square before realizing she had no place to go.

* * *

Stars Hollow is, as much as anything, the place where she ran out of options. She'd dipped into her tiny bank account, the place where she kept birthday and Christmas money and what little she could call hers, and bought a bus ticket. She'd rationed it carefully: enough for her and Rory to live on for two weeks, until she got a paycheck. Then enough for a bus ticket, as far as she could go.

Which turned out to be a place called Stars Hollow. She stepped out of the bus and into town square, carrying only Rory and two small bags, and walked to the nearest pay phone. She leaned against the brick wall outside the market and flipped through the wafer-thin yellow pages, looking for the biggest business in town. The Independence Inn had a full-page ad, making it her best bet. So Lorelai put Rory on her hip, walked five blocks to the Inn, and demanded a job.

It has been her home, her only home: the place she went when she ran out of options.

She turned slowly in town square, looking at the empty gazebo, at the dark windows of the diner. She turned slowly and walked toward the Dragonfly.


	10. Five Mussolinis

AN: Thank you all for the wonderful reviews. It's such an encouragement to hear positive things from writers I admire – so thank you.

This is, believe it or not, an LL fic, but I've got to get the pesky kid out of the way first. Next chapter features the Return of the Luke. I realize this story is a lot of people arguing with each other right now, but that will change as the storylines progress. Thanks for sticking with me through the angst.

* * *

Lorelai made it within three feet of the coffee machine before her super-stealthy footsteps were detected.

"Lorelai?" _Damn._

"Hey, Sookie."

"Any particular reason you're wearing the same clothes you wore yesterday?" Sookie's eyes widened. "Oh my god! How was it? You have to tell me everything! I need details. Did he take off the hat?"

"What?"

"Come on, you're here in the morning, dressed in the same clothes you wore yesterday, you've just started dating Luke."

"Oh, Sookie, no, no it's not that."

"Sure."

"Really, Sookie, it's not that."

"Uh-huh."

"Sookie, look at me. Do I look like I've just had sex?"

"No—" Sookie's face fell. "You've got those bags—your hair—are you okay?"

"Better before I got the rundown from Mr. Blackwell."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way. You just look like you didn't get a lot of sleep last night. And not for the good reason."

"I didn't."

"Rory?"

Lorelai dropped her eyes. "Yeah."

"Ok, this is just too weird. You and Rory have never been this way since I've known you. What is going on?"

"Sookie, it's just—" she shook her head. "I tried to talk to her last night and it turned into this huge argument and we said terrible things to each other – she keeps trying to push me out and she keeps saying how independent she wants to be, and I want her to be that way, but—"

"—but she's never been independent from you."

"She's always been able to talk to me. We have our fights, we make up, and the next week we're eating ice cream together and she's wearing my shoes. And now, suddenly, it's just—it's never been like this before."

"I'm sorry." Sookie reached over to squeeze Lorelai's hand.

"Thank you." Lorelai squeezed her hand in return.

"Triple-shot espresso and my amazing raspberry chocolate tortes?"

"You're a lifesaver."

"Coming right up."

* * *

Lorelai ventured home just long enough to change clothes and grab a shower, creeping by Rory's still-silent door on her way out. She paused, one fist raised, then dropped her hand to her side and turned to leave.

She froze when she heard voices, low and soft, then a laugh. Lane. She didn't know whether to be relieved or furious. It was good that Lane was here, good that Rory had someone to talk to.

_Horrible that it's not me_, said the little voice inside her head.

* * *

She'd managed to delay the inevitable for a week and a half, but all good schemes (and bad daughters) must come to an end. Michel passed the phone to her as she made the mistake of walking by the front desk.

"Lorelai, it is your mother."

She glared at the handset. "Did you tell her I was available?"

"Of course I told her you were available. Who would not make time to talk to such a charming woman?"

"Michel, how many times are we going to go over this?"

"Once more, I suppose." He smiled sweetly. "Here you are."

Lorelai snatched the phone from his hand and took it into her office, shutting the door behind her.

"Hi, mom."

"Hello, Lorelai. I just wanted to let you know you dinner will be at the regular time on Friday."

"And will it be at the regular place?"

"Yes, it will."

"Is Dad going to be there?"

"No, your father will be away."

"Let me guess, business in Philadelphia?"

"No, he's agreed to alternate with me."

"He's—Mom, that's crazy. This is Friday night dinner, you can't just pass it off like a…a football!"

"I'm not passing anything like a football. Your father and I have agreed to a schedule, and that is what we will follow."

"I thought this was about all of us having dinner together, as a family."

"Lorelai, you have taken every opportunity in four years to avoid coming here for dinner. You will not lecture me about having dinner together."

"I'm not lecturing, Mom, I just thought it would be a good chance for you and Dad to spend some time together."

"Your father and I have had enough of your 'help'."

"If at first you don't succeed..."

"I'll see you on Friday. Goodbye, Lorelai."

"Bye, Mom."

Lorelai leaned against her desk, head beginning to throb. She knew from experience that the best cure for a tension headache was coffee. Luke's coffee.

But it just seemed too far to go.

* * *

Rory was back on the couch when Lorelai opened the door, ending all hope of a peaceful retreat upstairs.

"Hi." She was going for neutral, but it didn't quite come out that way. Rory kept toying with the hem of her quilt.

"I guess I was pretty harsh yesterday."

"On the evil dictator scale of one to Hilter? I'd give you five Mussolinis."

"I'm sorry."

"You are?"

"I'm not sorry I said I needed to work this out on my own," Rory took a breath, "but I'm sorry I said all those things. I didn't mean them."

"It's okay."

"Really?"

"No, but that's what the good mother is supposed to say right now."

"And what is the woman with the Puss In Boots pajamas thinking right now?" She attempted a light tone, and almost succeeded.

"I think we're both still pretty pissed, but this is—" Lorelai shrugged. "this. This is better."

"No long-winded lecture?"

"You must have me confused with your other mother; I do not give long-winded lectures."

"The great tree-fall of '89?"

"You nearly broke your neck, and you're my daughter, what were you doing on an athletic endeavor anyway?"

"Point made."

"Fine. But I'm saving up."

"Duly noted."

They paused for a moment, still looking at each other, the light moment fading.

"We do have to talk, kid."

"I know, just—"

"—not right now."

Rory nodded. Lorelai lowered herself onto the edge of the couch and wrapped her arms around her daughter, reaching one hand up to smooth her hair. Rory let her stay that way only a moment, then pulled away. Lorelai felt the tearing sensation again.

"I'm gonna go do some reading. If Lane comes over, send her to my room, okay?"

Lorelai nodded.

"Okay."

When she climbed the stairs that night, the house was quiet.


End file.
